


Revision

by bootson



Series: Among Some Talk of You and Me [3]
Category: Actor RPF, Star Trek RPF
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Coming Out, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-27
Updated: 2012-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-30 04:45:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bootson/pseuds/bootson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zach calls after Chris' morning show outburst; this is the aftermath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revision

“Stop pouting.”

Chris’ head whipped around to find the source of the chastising comment. Granted, he knew the voice, had been expecting to hear it in person soon, but the suddenness of it shocked him. Sitting up straight, he dropped his hands from the back of his neck and stared at Zach.

Sometimes it was easy to forget how the man could work a t-shirt and jeans, never mind that they were expensive clothing since Zach could make nearly anything look custom made. Everything about Zach was exactly the same as the last time he’d seen him on the street, except the look in his eyes. Chris’ gaze quickly shifted to the wall over Zach’s shoulder.

“I told you to stay home. Do you have any idea what this is going to look like when the pictures break tomorrow?” He tried to sound reproachful, chide Zach into having some shame; Zach just shrugged, all easy nonchalance.

“I’ve never been so surreptitious.”

“Did I even unlock the door?” Chris asked, honest in his curiosity.

Zach’s eyes fell to the floor as his hand lifted. One silver key was between his fingers, the others dangling from the ring and clinking softly. “I still have a key.”

Sighing, Chris just nodded, lacking sufficient energy to argue with Zach tonight. The brief phone call had been murder on his restraint. As ridiculous as it seemed, Chris had felt attacked and wanted to become defensive. Zach, of course, cut that off at the pass and insisted he was coming over. Before Chris had even begun to dissuade him, he was talking to dead air. Not half an hour later, here they were.

Chris rubbed at his eyes, starting to push up off the sofa when a weight on his shoulder stopped him. He glanced up to meet Zach’s eyes, concern making the brown seem a shade lighter than Chris knew they were.

Zach shook his head once, standing over Chris without dropping his hand. He was _so close_ Chris could have hugged his waist; only with a saint’s control did he resist. He could handle this on his own, even if Zach was breaking through his personal space and clearly offering… _something_.

“No deflecting this time.” When Chris feigned ignorance, Zach clarified. “Are you okay?”

Without Chris’ permission, his eyes slid shut at the soft question. His response wasn’t going to change until he was surrounded by quiet for an extended period of time. “I already answered you. I _don’t know_. I’m just…coping, like I always do.”

“Hey,” he plucked at Chris’ shirt. “Eyes up here.”

It had been long enough since Zach had asked Chris for anything that his instincts screamed to acquiesce to any and every thing he requested, but Chris was holding back. The primary directive had always been to keep Zach away from whatever fall out Chris incurred; the only path to avoidance now was distance. Zach was having none of that, leaving Chris’ only option as staring at Zach’s shoes, studying the scuff marks Zach probably hadn’t noticed yet. When Zach realized he was losing the battle, he sunk to his knees, nudging Chris’ further apart in the process. Reaching out, he turned Chris’ head to force eye contact.

The touch was too hot, nearly burning his neck. Pinned under that gaze, Chris began to fidget, unnerved by something he hadn’t experienced for too long. Zach held firm so Chris started talking, just as Zach probably knew he would. Smug bastard, Chris mused, always knew which buttons to press.

“I’m sorry,” he promised, licking his lips while he breathed. “I should have talked to you before I did this. Owed you that much, I know. Jus-“

“You owe me _nothing_ ,” Zach gave him a small shake. The inflection left no room for discussion on the matter; Chris’ mouth snapped shut.

Too much was happening today, leaving little time for Chris to fully process his feelings, actions, the implications of both. While there wasn’t much to be done now, Chris hadn’t expected being this _close_ to Zach while they discussed whatever the hell the next course of action would be. He tried to say something, anything, but ended up shaking his head instead. His hands twitched with the effort of remaining still, knowing he shouldn’t reach out the way he wanted, needed to.

Another moment passed while Zach searched his eyes, analyzing whatever expression Chris wasn’t quite managing to contain. Suddenly, the hand on the back of his neck pulled Chris forward, solid arms encircling him without warning. His body stiffened, muscles locking down and causing Zach to hold tighter.

Seconds passed before Chris made a conscious effort to force his arms around Zach, a few more before he relaxed. Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead against the soft material of Zach’s shirt, breathing the familiar cocktail of laundry detergent, soap, cologne, and _Zach_. His hand clutched at Zach’s shirt, hanging on and breathing deeply.

Time was lost while Chris forced himself back into a semblance of calm. Even though he’d known the morning’s escapade would happen at _some_ point in the semi-near future, Chris hadn’t been prepared in the slightest. No one had been. This had been done without warning, no one expecting it until it was halfway over, far too late to force a stop and retract. Impetuousness was habit, common place at this point, but Chris hadn’t realized he’d feel so much in the aftermath.

“I can’t believe you did this,” Zach whispered against his hair, having turned his head at some point. “It was exceptionally brave. Ill planned, but pretty extraordinary.” It didn't feel as though he only meant the interview.

The words were doing something to him, twisting in the air around him and mingling with the warmth of Zach’s lips brushing the shell of his ear as he spoke. Déjà vu. Chris was leaning, absorbing…fucking _taking_.

This wouldn’t do; he was sinking in sensation, drowning in something he hadn’t realized he needed this desperately. Suddenly, Chris dropped his hands and fell back to slouch against the cushions. Zach allowed it, leaning over Chris’ knee to pull himself up to sit beside him. Their knees and shoulders brushed with every shift, each breath.

Chris should have moved away, his frayed nerves turning his willpower to a mere glimmer of intention. History had shown, the easiest way to ground Chris involved human contact and the heat seeping from Zach’s body into his was better than antidepressants and most narcotics.

“It wasn’t supposed to be this way.”

Cringing away a few inches, far enough to break their shoulders apart but not to lose the warmth, Chris shot a questioning expression in Zach’s direction. He bit his lip and silently begged Zach not to be upset by the feeling that a public confession of his own should follow.

“You weren’t supposed to do this alone.” Dark brown eyes, shade altered with frustration, locked onto his; Chris spared a few seconds to silently debate the direction of said frustration. “Why didn’t you plan it? You left more questions than anything.” In essence, Zach meant he’d been digging a deeper hole; Chris was plenty aware. “Even on screen I could see it in your eyes, you were as shocked as any of us.”

The collective pronoun brought about another cringe. Chris shrugged to contain it, forcing himself to his feet. Pacing, breathing, concentrating with Zach’s eyes tracing each step. “It should have been easy. Everyone already knew.”

“You didn’t look…” A hand sliced through the air in a disjointed string of gestures. Chris’ lips tried to twist into a smile but settled on a smirk, small but discernible. “When you discussed us, you looked terrified. You were more…concerned about _us_ than _you_.”

“Try to restrain your incredulity, _Zachary_ ,” Chris shot before thinking. Chewing on his lip, he tried to apologize with his eyes even if Zach seemed completely unfazed by the outburst. “You were involved, but I didn’t…want them to twist it, play it later and rip either of us apart over it. If I was telling the story, I would have had the sympathy and you-“ His hand was scratching through his hair, breath nearing erratic as he tried to explain. He was failing, Chris accepted that, but he wanted Zach to understand so badly that restructuring his thoughts became problematic. Vocally was the only method he could use to fit the words together.

“You were protecting me from negativity?” Zach was on his feet, crossing to Chris even as he nodded. “God, Chris. You don’t have to worry so much about me.”

Was he dense? Chris hardly cared about himself in this situation, he’d caused this little piece of it; Zach was the innocent bystander. A firm grip on each arm startled him enough for Chris to stop avoiding Zach’s face and pretending his expressions were neutral.

“Yeah. I do.”

Without looking away, Zach leaned their heads together, hands rising to cup his cheek and throat respectively, thumb lightly against his pulse. This was an old trick, forced contact to pull his focus and pinpoint his attention. “We’re doing this again, properly. Together. That was the deal.”

Chris sighed, nodding as much as the position would allow, hands resting on Zach’s shoulders, most certainly _not_ gripping the material like a fucking child with a security blanket.

Even as they broke apart, beginning to discuss options and the perfect saving grace, Chris felt things reverting. They shouldn’t do this, but the cycle was their entire dynamic. They leaned on each other, mutually most of the time, and threw random ideas into the air before merging the best. It was old and simultaneously new, rejuvenated.

Days passed. Without realizing it, Chris was starting to rely on Zach again, a pattern closing in on itself to regain its previous momentum. He hadn’t called his agent, manager or publicist, letting Zach arrange the meeting with their individual “people” instead. Because when Zach Quinto made a promise, he never reneged.

If that promise led them to a conference room in a cushy building, so be it.

The conference was not going well. They spent the first fifteen or so odd minutes being themselves, casually talking up their plans. Mostly, Zach was talking, being better with the whole business aspect of…the business. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on perspective), Zach was practically in the clear, having had the discussion at some point in the past. Chris, however, was not so lucky. Rewriting history was more difficult than embellishing it.

Speculation about Zach had been endless; this was just an inevitable step. He could still play evil, detached, flamboyant. Anything short of the romantic lead opposite the current starlet flavor of the season and he was golden. Chris, however, needed to be the Hollywood leading man; either romantic or manly depending on the situation. It was the niche he had stumbled into way back with _The Princess Diaries_. The role was solidified, but one crack and the foundation tumbled, a house built too close to the water where flooding could quickly erode the base.

The tactic changed swiftly, neither Zach nor Chris giving any warning. When they hit the roadblock, Chris slipped into the old stand-by: acting. If nothing else, Chris needed to prove he could be what he needed to be whenever that need arose.

Zach followed suit and everyone became exasperated by the sudden defiant arrogance and cool logic hitting them from opposing directions, beating them down. Maybe they _could_ change their images and persevere, Chris realized, reclining a bit in his chair, smirking at each new rebuttal.

“Chris, I’m sorry, but I think this is a bad idea,” Susie put forth once again. The woman had a hard time looking stern sometimes, not today.

Zach’s publicist agreed with a short nod. “This could prove fatal for you. Your offers may change.”

His own agent came next. “People need to buy you as tough.”

“A ladies man,” his manager’s assistant nodded. Argument pace increased, everyone having a say from each side.

“You’re versatile, but that only matters if you present yourself accordingly.” The actors snorted at the implication, an unintended double entendre.

“We can’t sell that if the public doesn’t see it.”

Chris let the smirk shift, eyes twinkling in a decidedly wicked way. Zach shifted beside him, leaning closer, anticipating. Simultaneously, they reached out, hands intertwining on the glass tabletop and reflecting. Free arm resting on the edge, Chris shrugged. The character came naturally, Chris felt the persona radiate around him. Hopefully, the charisma bridged the gap between sides, coating the situation and proving what he was capable of.

Inwardly, he bristled. Outward, he grinned. This may be his final shot, one last ditch effort to prove he could come across as _any-fucking-thing_ , regardless of who he personally chose to interweave into his life.

“I’m James T. Kirk,” he narrowly avoided adding a _bitch_ on the end just for giggles. “I think I can pull it off.” Then he winked. "If I can pull that off, this is cake." 

Zach slipped, squeezing his hand and grinning in victory.

As they left a slightly amused but mostly discouraged group behind, Chris sighed, punching the button for the elevator. Nervous energy was buzzing in his head, threatening to become overwhelming while Chris tried to de-Kirk quickly enough to be normal.

“Method acting at its finest,” he mused as the doors closed around them.

“Indeed,” Zach quirked an eyebrow, earning him a shove to the side but also a grin.

“Cease and desist.” Hell, he really had missed Zach. The little things, their small inside jokes, finishing sentences, just _knowing_ exactly what was going on in the other’s head during these damned schemes; Chris had missed it all. If this was all he ever regained, he’d accept it and be thankful.

Chuckling softly, Zach regained his footing and moved closer. Swinging his arm back, Zach brought it up on the inside of Chris’ to clasp his thumb and pinky around Chris’ wrist. His palm pressed flat against Chris’ pulse, sensation stronger against the thinner skin, three fingers extended over the heel of Chris’ hand.

“We should hang out more.”

Chris tilted his head a little, playing into the subtext he was probably only projecting. His fingers closed around Zach’s, holding tight before loosening with no intention of release. “Whatever you want.”

Something flashed across Zach’s face, something lacking a basic label and far too fleeting for Chris to properly identify. The doors opened, cutting Chris’ thoughts short as he started to pull away from sheer habit. The older man’s hold on his wrist tightened, cutting into the skin a little, pulling Chris with him and not bothering to let go.

So it was going to be like that.

It should have been comforting, technically being allowed to touch Zach whenever he chose. Far from it. Chris couldn’t just grab him, make a joke against his lips before pressing against him. No, that was off limits. Zach had this infuriating tendency to pull until Chris was dangerously close to slipping and needing too much, taking a leap; then he pushed away, leaving Chris slightly dazed and wondering if he’d ever been able to read Zach as well as he’d thought.

Probably not. Quotations about lost causes and unhealthy second chances began slipping from the recesses of his mind, irritating him at inopportune moments. Holding them back was easy when Zach was in sight, which happened quite frequently actually. When he was on his own, driving between meetings, dodging photogs in mundane places, the thoughts returned.

Trying to push them away, he heaved a sigh. Chris entered the semi-familiar building, sunglasses still shielding him from the fluorescents and nearly dead on his feet from all the damage control he’d been pulling with producers of various projects. The last thing he expected was a hand to grab his.

“Jesus, fuck, Zach! A little warning?” Chris snapped, trying not to sound breathless. It wasn’t his fault he’d become jumpy since the media had descended on him once again, nearly as much as when _Star Trek_ first hit.

Zach laughed, bumping their shoulders. “You ready to sell this?”

“Sex sells, baby. I’m walking sex.” Chris adopted his most charming grin.

“I really need to start getting that ego back in check. Your restraint has deteriorated without me.” A dramatic sigh accompanied the teasing comment.

Joking or not, Chris shifted away as they walked, skillfully dodging when Zach tried to touch him. “Personally, I think I’ve been better since.”

Expression crumbling in a way which broke Chris’ heart all over again, Zach was saved from speaking as they were distracted by an over-eager twenty-something man sent to direct them to a dressing-slash-waiting room of sorts. With Zach looking completely dejected and Chris ready to choke him, the brightly lit room took on the atmosphere of a prison holding cell.

Chris was picking at the label on a bottle of water, silently reprimanding himself for being so melodramatic, when Zach rounded on him.

“Do you have something to say?”

“No,” Chris countered slowly, not sure where this was going. _He_ wasn’t the one playing games when he hypocritically swore he hated such things. _He_ wasn’t the one who had asked for, _demanded_ a change then lamented it. “But you apparently do.”

“What are we doing, Christopher?” He mused his perfectly arranged hair, Chris reaching out to stop him since they had maybe twenty minutes before the cameras rolled. Misinterpreting the gesture, Zach inched back.

A condescending tone, as if speaking with a small child, filled Chris’ voice. “We’re about to repeat my previous stellar performance and prove to the masses we are capable of retaining our dignity.” Somewhere in this mess, Chris had stepped closer, stopping when his toes bumped Zach’s. “Unless you’ve decided I’m not worth it. Save your image, this was mostly about me. You don’t owe _me_ anything.”

Zach’s expression flashed; Chris edged closer and tried to decipher it. “No, I owe you an apology.”

The anger was building, bubbling through Chris until it caught in his throat. A numbness began to take its place. This had been a bad idea. As much as he enjoyed being around Zach again, usually at any rate, he knew what he had been getting himself into, the exact type of nonsense his hopes were centering on even when his mind refused to acknowledge it. He’d never really moved on, they both knew it the day he’d come clean to the world and taken whatever Zach gave him. For all the changes Chris swore he’d made, felt down to his core, he was still essentially the same person. He’d always take anything Zach offered.

Maybe the offer made all the difference.

His silence spurred Zach on. “I turned my back on you. When Anton called, I should have come straight to you.”

“I was in Maine.” Anxiety made Chris contrary.

“Which really must have sucked; you need to tell me about that, by the way,” Zach answered by way of an aside before continuing. “I always tried to force too much on you. Then when you fucking needed me, I wasn’t _there_ And I’m sorry.”

“I could have called you just as easily.” The words were fumbling against one another in Chris’ frantic attempt to take the blame. Considering he rarely begged to be responsible for negative things, a few slurred words were the best he could ask for.

Eyes closed, Zach shook his head. “I knew you wouldn’t. I practically forbade you to.”

Zach’s eyes were clear, unrestrained regret shining through before spreading to encompass his entire body as his lips frowned and shoulders drooped. Chris bit his lip and gripped Zach’s shoulder, shaking him and pulling him closer.

Chris knew Zach had serious guilt issues sometimes, over important things. Part of him was elated that he was an _important thing_ , but mostly he knew this was something they had to share. Mostly, this had been his fault. He had been belligerent and obstinate, giving in a just too late for it to count. Zach asking for something couldn’t be faulted, complained about. As soon as he opened his mouth, Zach spoke again, effectively cutting him off even though Chris hated being interrupted.

“You don’t ask for too much. I’m not sure you ever actually did.” Zach was dodging Chris attempts at eye contact. “I was too caught up and thought if you didn’t need me so much, I could handle it. I made it your fault and this happened.”

“Technically, _this_ is Anton’s fault.”

Rolling his eyes, Zach began to clarify to which situation he was referring. Chris grinned briefly when he say Zach’s lips part, going on the instinct and emotions he’d been repressing. He disrupted his friend’s intended comment by surging forward, mouth catching Zach off-guard.

The shock dissipated quickly, Zach leaning into him, pulling him closer. Chris was distantly aware that his shirt was wrinkling under the tight grip but was too focused on the kiss to spare more than a fleeting thought for his attire. His fingers threaded through already messy dark strands, tugging and eliciting a groan. It was a messy, open-mouthed kiss complete with noses smashing and teeth clashing before they fell into the practiced rhythm they’d once known.

Zach was pulling backwards, leaning against the wall and pressing his hips into Chris’ as Chris stroked their tongues together. Chris braced a hand against the wall beside Zach’s head, the other tracing the line of his body, disinclined to losing contact. He pressed their bodies completely together, everything familiar about the way Zach moved against him and trailed his lips down his neck.

The familiarity was illusory, this scene completely different from each previous encounter. There was a hesitation behind each movement, an apology in each kiss, desperation in every quiet sound they didn’t manage to control. It was all too much and not enough when Zach’s hands slipped under Chris’ shirt and Chris’ free hand gripped his ass to grind them together more roughly.

As far as makeup sex was concerned, it would have been phenomenal…if there wasn’t a knock on the door as someone’s assistant entered to collect them. They pulled away quickly yet reluctantly, adjusting clothing, erections, and hair in the process.

Chris laughed at the absurdity, running a hand over his mouth as the woman sputtered a broken apology. Flustered as she was, she rallied and said the set up was ready and would they please follow her. They both laughed as they fell into step together, ready to figuratively put an end to this situation.

Again, Chris chuckled, earning him a quizzical look from Zach. He waved it off but couldn’t help thinking just how fucking self-righteous Anton was going to be. The media, the interviews, the…reunion; it was all because Anton was an idiot who didn’t know how to password protect a laptop. Nonetheless, he would surely take the credit. Chris reconsidered buying him a thank you present.

As they were ushered into seats, Chris inched his closer to Zach’s and Zach dropped a hand to his knee as they greeted the blonde woman they had very explicitly requested. Enthusiasm was radiating from her, catching the endorphin high Chris was already riding out. Sharing a small smile which spoke volumes, not having to worry about who saw for a change, they fell easily into the questions, fully prepared this time. A do-over.

But this wasn’t an edit; they weren’t fixing what had gone wrong with Chris’ talk show outburst or their relationship. No, this wasn’t an edit; it was a revision. A fine point of semantics, perhaps, but the broken parts weren’t just being fixed. The entire dynamic was being reformatted, a new version of themselves in relation to one another created. The revision was always stronger than the original.

 

 


End file.
